


I Want In

by antebunny



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Peggy Carter, Drama, Fluff, Gen, Internal Conflict, Light Angst, Peggy Carter is a boss, Peggy Carter-centric, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebunny/pseuds/antebunny
Summary: “A celebration is in order,” Bucky declared, lifting his drink as a toast.“You just want to see Steve get drunk,” Jones accused, but raised his own.“Phillips is gonna be pissed,” Morita warned, pulling up another seat for Bucky, who sat on the other side of Peggy.“All due respect to the Colonel,” Peggy said, unknowingly imitating something Steve had once said, “but you can pick your own members. "OR:How Peggy Carter became a Howling Commando.





	I Want In

I Want In

* * *

 

 

**Bletchley Park, England, 1943**

“I used to live here, you know,” Peggy said. “You didn’t need to walk with me.”

“I know,” Steve said. They both walked at a brisk military pace that set them apart from the code breakers going in and out of Bletchley Park. The thick, long-sleeve dark green dress uniform was common, even with the sun bearing down on them, but Steve’s had an unfortunate number of medals on it that would always attract people’s attention.

Bletchley Park was a large building that looked like it could have once been a mansion. It was only two stories high, but it was designed as though each portion of the wall had belonged to a different building. A large, cone-like bush sood right in front of the building.

Steve knew he didn’t _need_ to walk Peggy to Bletchley Park. She was just dropping off some files, and she used to work a desk job there herself before she became an SOE agent. But Steve had been desperate to get out of the latest propaganda shot (it had been disguised as a briefing this time, they were getting desperate), and it was also a polite thing to do. The other Howling Commandos were fine filling in for Steve; they currently had a competition running to see who could make up the most outlandish stories about Steve without the reporter calling them out on it. Bucky was currently winning.

Their dress shoes crunched on the ground. Steve, who had spent most of his life sticking newspapers in his shoes, took slightly more care to not scuff them.

“I don’t mind it at all,” Peggy assured him. She slowed as they approached Bletchley Park. That wasn’t exactly true. She did enjoy his company, but there was one former colleague of Peggy’s that she really did not want Steve to meet.

A single figure exited the main doors of Bletchley Park, to the left of the bush. He wore a white shirt and frowned down at a clipboard.

“Mornin’,” Steve said out of habit, as he passed.

He looked up briefly at the American accent, saw Steve, and looked back down again. “Good morning,” he said, already beginning to rush past–and froze. He looked up again at Steve and Peggy, who had stopped as well at his strange reaction. But his gaze moved past Steve. _“Peggy?”_

Peggy went stiff. “Fred. I didn’t know you were here.” She glanced from Fred to Steve and cleared her throat. “Fred, this is…Captain Steve Rogers, Steve this is Fred Wells, my former…”

“Fiancé,” Fred said, still staring at Peggy.

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. He took in their stiff postures and stepped back.

“It’s been _three._ _Years,_ ” Fred said, fingers clenching his clipboard. He took a step forwards. “Where the hell have you been, Peggy?”

And Peggy, the fiercest woman Steve ever knew, and that included his own mother, took a step back. “I–” she glanced down. “I’m sorry, Fred–”

“You’re _sorry?”_

“Wait a minute–” Steve began. He didn’t know what was going on here, but he didn’t like the way Wells was treating Peggy, and he’d picked a fight for far less.

But Peggy turned on him. “Stay out of this,” Peggy warned. “This isn’t your fight, Steve!”

“Steve? _Steve?”_ Fred said, incredulous. “You mean that Captain America fellow?” He gave Peggy a look of contempt. “All this time. All this time, and not a word, and you’ve been hanging around with this–this–” He waved in Steve’s direction to capture his general Steve-ness. “This American poster boy _–”_

Peggy’s look grew cold. “That’s enough, Fred.”

“ _You’ve_ had enough from _me?_ Oh, that’s _rich!_ ” Fred shouted at her as Peggy whirled away and started marching to Bletchley Park. “I’ve put up with _you,_ since 1940! Don’t you walk away from me– _Peggy!”_

Peggy kept right on marching, and Fred rushed to keep up with her. “I decided that’s not what I want for my life,” Peggy said shortly. “A desk job didn’t suit me.”

“Didn’t _suit_ you?” Fred said incredulously. “Who do you think you are, playing at…at…” he waved at her army uniform, “dress up?”

Peggy sighed in exasperation. This was why Peggy had left him. Fred was a nice enough chap. He’d charmed her parents, certainly; her mother hadn’t found any “ _issues”_ with him. He hadn’t deserved Peggy ditching him, but Peggy knew he wouldn’t have supported her decision to become a spy. Nobody would, not even her own parents. Her brother Michael was the only person who had ever supported her, but Peggy had shut him out.

Then Michael had died, and Peggy had been left with no one who really knew her. And the worst part, the part Peggy had tried to forget for years?

His death had been her fault.

“I’m a spy,” Peggy said, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. She fled. Turned left and ran, she didn’t know where, but it wasn’t like she could get lost. Peggy angrily wiped away tears and ignored Steve and Fred calling after her. She prayed that Steve wouldn’t try and follow her, because unlike Fred, she couldn’t outrun him, and she didn’t want Steve to see her like this.

She needed a drink. After Michael had died, Peggy had done her best to concentrate on her job and not think about Michael or his last words to her. As if she could somehow make it up to him for turning her back on him because he’d dared to tell her the truth, and let him go back to the battlefield all alone. She’d let him die.

And now Peggy realized that she was forgetting his face.

That night, she dreamed of Michael.

_“I know you better than anyone else alive and this isn’t what you want.”_

_“What is it you think_ I _want?”_

_“Same thing you’ve wanted since you were a little girl; a life of adventure. Don’t worry about what other people think. You are meant to fight. Stop pretending do be someone you’re not._

_Peg. Peggy, come back–”_

Michael. _He turned around, hands in the pockets of the same dress uniform he’d worn to her engagement party, the last thing she’d ever seen him in, a grin on his face. “Peg.”_

_“Michael!” She flung her arms around him, and cried for a long time. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”_

_“Peggy, it’s alright–”_

_“I sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I walked out, and–” She drew back and drank in his face–how could she ever have forgotten it? “I joined the SOE, Michael. I was recruited by the British Special Services.” She pulled at the SSR pin neatly tacked to her uniform. “I’m an agent. A spy. I took your advice, Michael, are you–are you proud of me now–?”_

_“Peg. Peggy, it was never about what I want. It’s about what you want.” He grinned down at her. He might not be able to outdrink, outshoot, or outrun his sister, but he would always be taller than her. “What do you want, Peggy Carter?”_

She woke up. Her arms grasped only cold night air, and she wrapped herself in her bed sheets again. Her thoughts were muddled and the dream was a blur, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty:

 _I want in._  
  
  


**Whip & Fiddle Bar, Bletchley, England, 1943**

 

The noise engulfed Peggy from the moment she opened the door of the bar. Men laughed and leaned back on their worn, wooden chairs. The bar counter sat on the right side of bar, with rows and rows of bottles lined up behind it. The bar was no hotter than the summer night, but inside the bar the air was sticky and muggy. Two men exited, one holding up his friend who was already far too drunk to make it home on his own.

Peggy had made the conscious decision to wear her red dress tonight, even if it attracted unwelcome attention. She wanted to remind people that she didn’t get to where she was by acting like a man. She had put on makeup–but only so that no one would notice she’d been crying.

Steve was sitting by the counter, surrounded by his Howling Commandos. It looked like Steve and Bucky were doing another round of embarrassing stories about each other, competing to see who could make the team laugh more. They were wearing loose white shirts. Without the Captain America uniform or the army one, it was hard to recognize Steve as Captain America in the crowded bar.

He was the first to notice her approach them. Steve scrambled to his feet, almost knocking his stool over. “Peggy!” Steve greeted. He looked pleasantly surprised and a little worried. He tried to make room for her, but Bucky very unsubtly shoved him back into his seat and backed out of his own to give Peggy room, right next to Steve.

Peggy flagged down the attention of the bartender. “I’ll have whatever the gentlemen are having, please,” she said. She was going to need a drink for the next conversation.

“Peggy, about yesterday–” Steve began as the bartender came back with her drink.

She downed it in one gulp and grimaced; whatever they were having was strong. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she interrupted. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It wasn’t fair to you, it’s just…” Her face pinched in a grimace again and she flagged the bartender down again for a top up. She could sense the team trading glances behind her back. “I need to talk to you,” she said, starting again. “To all of you,” she added, glancing around the group.

They exchanged surprised glances and leaned in. Steve wouldn’t talk about somebody else’s business, especially when Peggy told him to stay out of it. But the team knew something had happened because Bucky had asked Steve how ‘walking with Carter’ had gone, and Steve was a terrible, terrible liar. So now they were curious.

Peggy felt her stomach clench with nervousness again. They didn’t need her. They had Gabe Jones, the linguist who spoke German and French; Jacques Dernier, the French explosions expert; Jim Morita, the communications officer; James Falsworth, the medic; Timothy Dugan; and, of course, Bucky, the sniper.

Where was her bravery now? She’d walked into the bar filled with men who weren’t exactly sober, fully prepared to punch anybody who insulted her. She’d marched right up to Captain America and his best friend.

 _Don’t worry about what other people think,_ Michael had told her. _You were meant to fight._

Peggy took a deep breath. “I want in.”

They shared a puzzled glance. Steve’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

Peggy had risen to the British Special Services mainly because she was efficient at any job given to her. Colonel Phillips was the first person to really see her use as a spy, and even he saw Peggy as expendable, because as good as she was, she didn’t contribute _enough_ to the war effort. Peggy tried to help in whatever way she could, including breaking the rules so that Steve could command his one-man rescue mission. Phillips had been ready to use her as a scapegoat, because unlike Stark, she was expandable.

But the Howling Commandos? They were essentially the only task force against HYDRA, because the rest of the army didn’t see the importance; they’d never seen what HYDRA’s weapons could do. They helped. They changed. What could she offer them?

_What do you want, Peggy Carter?_

“I want to help,” Peggy explained. “I want to do more.” She glanced around the group, and saw a lot of confusion. “I’d like to join you…if that’s––if you’ll have me.” She looked up finally, fidgeting with her drink nervously. Peggy forced herself to stop and stand up tall. She wasn’t afraid of their response, or what they thought. Not at all.

“You know what people are going to say,” Dugan spoke up. “That you, uh–”

“Seduced Rogers,” Morita supplied.

Steve’s face went beet red, and Bucky chortled into his drink.

“Shut up, Morita, nobody asked you,” Dugan sniped. “That you _tricked_ your way into being on a team that you have no place being on.”

“I don’t care what other people think,” Peggy said calmly.

“Well,” Bucky said, cracking a smile, “sniper to spy, it’d be nice to have someone else in the team who doesn’t run headlong into danger.”

“ _Qui est responsable quand elle est en danger?_ ” Dernier muttered to Jones.

“ _C’est ne pas toi_ ,” Peggy answered, and they looked up at her in surprise.

“I didn’t know you could speak French,” Jones said guiltily.

“You never asked,” Peggy said sweetly.

“I vote she stays,” Falsworth said. “We might finally be able to understand what Dernier and Jones plot about. Rogers?”

All eyes swung to Steve, their leader. He was watching their interactions with a thoughtful look on his face, and now he turned to look at Peggy. “You once told me that you thought I was meant for more,” he remarked. _I can help,_ she’d said, but afterwards he hadn’t asked for her to be on his team, and she’d lost hope. Until yesterday, when she was reminded that it wasn’t about what other people thought.

“I think that’s true for you too,” Steve said. “Welcome to the team, Agent Carter.”

“A celebration is in order,” Bucky declared, lifting his drink as a toast.

“You just want to see Steve get drunk,” Jones accused, but raised his own.

“Phillips is gonna be pissed,” Morita warned, pulling up another seat for Bucky, who sat on the other side of Peggy.

“All due respect to the Colonel,” Peggy said, unknowingly imitating something Steve had once said, “but you can pick your own members. And Steve can’t get drunk. One of the side effects of the Serum.”

Bucky exchanged scandalized looks with Dugan. “No.”

Peggy downed hers in one gulp. “Yes. Let’s get another round of drinks. It seems a contest is in order.” _(“Go on, Peg, slug it back. You won’t beat your older brother this time; I’ve been practicing.”)_

“Is that a challenge?” Bucky asked, smirking. _(“_ You _can do_ that? _” Fred had said, disbelief on his face.)_  

“Hardly. It’d only be a challenge if you stood a chance of beating me.”

“Oh, it’s on!” Bucky crowed.

She won.

  


**Whip & Fiddle Bar, Bletchley, England, 1945**

The bar was deserted. Dust coated the broken floorboards. The stools where Steve and his team once sat were gone. Only one stool stood by the counter. The walls were cracked and peeling, and broken bottles littered the counter top. A broken door was carelessly tossed to the side. Some of the windows were cracked or smashed. Debris covered the entire place. The air was drafty and still. An air raid siren blared in the distance. It was hard to believe that this was the place where Peggy had first become a Howling Commando, a place where anybody had laughed or cheered.

Peggy picked her way through the open doorway, taking off her gloves and sliding them into her purse. Steve sat alone at the single table with a glass and a bottle of scotch. Peggy wore a drab brown dress, but Steve was wearing his army uniform with a tie. It was all he knew by now. He looked up when he heard Peggy come in and sniffed, hastily wiping away tears. She lifted a fallen chair up and sat down opposite from Steve, elbows resting lightly on the table.

“You know you can’t get drunk,” Peggy said quietly.

“I know,” Steve said. His voice sounded hoarse. He didn’t look up.

Peggy sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

Steve snorted bitterly. “You know that’s not true.”

She sat up straighter. “Then is it my fault?” She challenged. “Did I get Bucky killed?”

Steve jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Peggy sighed. She watched him stare down at his drink for a more few seconds, his eyes closed. “I used to have a brother, you know.”

He didn’t. Steve glanced at her.

“Michael Carter,” Peggy continued. “He was an officer in the British Armed Forces until 1940. The last time I saw him was my engagement party.”

“Fred Wells?” Steve asked. He didn’t know where she was going with this. He wasn’t sure if she was just trying to distract him from Bucky’s death, but Peggy never really shared any personal details. She’d never talked about Wells since Bletchley Park two years ago. There was no reason why she would now.

But Peggy nodded. “Yes. And Michael’s last words to me were to call off my marriage with Fred, and he might have said more, but I’ll never know because I walked out on him and a few weeks later he died.” Peggy’s lips tightened and she looked away briefly. “He told me I was meant for more. He recommended me for the SOE–Special Operations Executive, I’d turned them down a few days ago. So, when he died, I joined the SOE, because they wanted people who wouldn’t draw attention walking down the street, and women were the men for the job.”

Peggy reached over and grabbed his glass, swallowing his scotch. She gave him a brief smile. “I _can_ get drunk. Colonel Phillips was the first person to see the need for a spy,” she continued. “So when I was loaned to the SSR, I went to Germany, infiltrated Schmidt’s base, and rescued Dr. Erskine.”

“I didn’t know that was you,” Steve admitted.

Peggy shrugged one shoulder. “I thought he told you.” She took another sip of Steve’s scotch. “And then three years later I ran into Wells again. In Bletchley Park.” She waved at Steve with the glass. “You were there. I’d forgotten…” her voice trailed off and she set the glass down carefully.

Peggy had thought she’d done what Michael would have wanted. _This isn’t what you want–_ She spent years doing exactly that, all the while trying to forget that last conversation. It wasn’t until Fred forced her to remember it that Peggy realized what Michael had told her that night was to do what _she_ wanted.

Peggy looked up at Steve, who was staring at his glass. “I realized I wanted more. I ended up quitting the British Special Services, and serving under,” she nodded at him, “you.”

Peggy refilled the glass again and choked it down. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I know what it’s like not to follow my brother out into the field, and there isn’t a _single_ day that I don’t regret it.” Her voice was a whisper by the end of her sentence.

Steve raised his bloodshot eyes to meet hers. “I’m going after Schmidt,” he said finally. “I’m not gonna stop until all of HYDRA is dead or captured.”

“Steve,” Peggy slammed her hand down over his and he looked up at her, surprised. “You aren’t listening to me! If you believed in your brother, if you respected him, then allow Bucky the dignity of his choice, because he must have damn well thought you were worth it!” She leaned in, trying to reach him. Her eyes were fierce, with a glint of anger. “He wanted you to live. The least you could do is respect that.”

 

**HYDRA Headquarters, winter of 1945**

 

Schmidt’s hijacked car roared down the giant underground hangar. Rows of lights glared overhead. Behind them, the gunshots and cries of HYDRA and SSR soldiers fighting were drowned out by the roaring of Schmidt’s plane, _The Valkyrie_ , taking off right ahead of them. Steve stood up in the copilot seat, shield in hand. Next to him sat Colonel Phillips at the wheel, furiously racing after the plane. Behind him sat Agent Carter, who was calm despite the raging battle and howling wind.

“Keep it steady!” Steve yelled. This was their last chance to catch Schmidt, and he was getting away. They couldn’t risk it.

Steve swung his shield onto his back and climbed around the side of the car, ducking under the propeller blades that scraped against shield viciously. Behind him, Peggy holstered her gun and yanked on thick, black aviator gloves that would grip almost every surface. She squinted against the wind from the Valkyrie that sliced the air in front of her, and climbed around to the other side of the car. They both leaned on the hood of the car.

“Let’s get him, Captain!” Peggy called over the wind.

Steve grinned at her and nodded. He pulled himself on the hood of the car, preparing to jump. The roof of the hangar ended only about fifteen meters before the cliff itself, and the car needed about ten of those in order to stop. That left only five meters of time for Steve to jump.

The reflected light that glinted off the snow grew brighter as the car sped towards the end of the underground runway. The plane tilted upwards.

“Jump!” Peggy screamed.

Steve jumped. His arms caught the center of the landing gear, the giant wheels spinning on either side of him. He pulled himself up and swung around to the other side, holding on to the pole with one hand.

Peggy stood up on the hood and jumped on after him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, first off, thank you for reading.  
> Secondly, sorry for the sort of cliffhanger. The last scene is mostly symbolism and makes a whole lot more sense if you've seen the movie. There really is no way to solve that conflict on the plane happily. That said, I do have a headcanon of sorts, but that changes canon too much and I'm not willing to commit to that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a comment.
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
